Avenues
by Diabolical Pink Bunny
Summary: Season 6, episode 05: If John, Elizabeth and Rodney could go back to the beginning, would they do everything the same again? Would fate lead them back to Atlantis and one another, or had it been coincidence the first time around?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate: Atlantis or Stargate: SG-1._

_Author's note: There is an episode of X-Files (which I do not own either), 'The field where I died' that made me think about the paths – avenues – one's life takes and whether we really were meant to meet certain people during our lifetimes. Is there really someone that you need to have in your life, no matter in which manner? Or is it just random coincidences?_

_And of course, there is the story that at the first humans were created as a whole: a complete soul. But the gods (Zeus et al.) became jealous of their happiness and tore them in two. Ever since we have been searching for the other half of our souls. I like this story._

_PS: this is the fifth episode of Season 6 - my style. The series starts with 'I am Atlantis,' then 'Spite and Malice,' 'The Last Petal' & 'The Last Petal part 2.' You might want to read those first to understand this story._

**Chapter 1**

_John!_

Elizabeth Weir woke with the memory of a scream still on her lips. _What happened?_ she wondered. There had been a flash and the tortured sound of ripping metal...

Quickly she reached over and turned on her bedside lamp. It was a low wattage lamp and the light did not hurt her darkened eyes. _John..._ She looked around the room: _her_ room. The one she has had for years now, ever since her older sister had moved out.

As she settled back into the pillows, she had the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Yes, this was her room. Yet that did not quell the feeling that this was not how it should be. _There had been that flash and the sound of metal being ripped apart..._

Suddenly her door creaked open and her mom looked in; eyes still bleary from sleep.

"Lizzy, are you okay?" the older woman asked, her eyes worried.

Still confused, Lizzy shook her head. "No, Mom, I'm fine," she replied. Already that nagging feeling of _wrong_ was fading. She was Lizzy Weir and today was her school graduation. It sometimes felt as if she had been working her entire seventeen years towards this day. Yet even today was only the first step in the bigger plan Lizzy had with her life.

"You were screaming," her mom questioned.

Once more – for just a moment – the feeling of this being wrong flashed through Lizzy. But it passed and it was immediately replaced with excitement.

"I'm fine. It was probably just a nightmare," the girl assured her mom. _Tearing metal and a blinding flash..._

"Okay," the woman said, slightly lowering her head and lifting a single eyebrow in the process. Usually this expression could get any hidden information from Lizzy, but that which had seemed strange had already faded like the dream it had to be, and Lizzy felt she had nothing to say to her mother. "Well, I'm making breakfast," Lizzy's mom finally said. As she turned to leave, young Lizzy suddenly had the strangest urge to hug her mom. It seemed that she hadn't done so in years.

"Are you sure you are all right?" her mom asked as Lizzy flung herself at the woman.

"Yeah, I'm just happy to be here with you," Lizzy answered. She held on a moment later before releasing her startled mother. Then she smiled. "Pancakes?" she enquired.

"Only today." This time the woman left and Lizzy rushed through her morning routine. Today was not a day to be late.

Forty minutes later Lizzy arrived at school. As was her habit, she waited for her two best friends at the small table near the entrance. Everyone knew this was _their_ spot. Well, actually everyone knew it was Tayler's spot. But no-one wanted to cross the beautiful blonde leader of the small group.

As Lizzy watched Tayler and Annie walk up to her, she suddenly wondered why she and Annie were friends with Tayler. Tayler was stunning: tall and willowy with long blonde hair. Lizzy and Annie looked almost the same: short and plump with dark hair. Only Annie's eyes were nearly black – something Lizzy considered her best feature.

And in an era where Madonna still set the trend with lots of loose clothes with drapes, studs and leather accessories, Tayler set her own trend. The girl usually wore a bright top belted at the waist with skin-tight jeans and bright shoes. On Lizzy this looked ridiculous, but on Tayler it was stunning.

It was then she realised why she and Annie were allowed to be friends with the girl: both Annie and Lizzy set off Tayler's own good looks. They were the other girl's backdrop.

"Hello, Lizzy," Tayler greeted with an air-kiss. Annie smiled, but did not air-kiss. Suddenly angry, Lizzy decided there and then she would never again use that meaningless gesture.

"Hello, Tayler," she coolly replied. She turned to Annie. "Hey, you."

"Hey," the shy girl replied and together the three of them set off towards the school hall where the ceremony would be held. It was a small school, but even so the committee had tried their best with decorating the hall and making the graduation of the class of '85 a memorable occasion.

As expected, the ceremony went down without a hitch, and soon after the three girls found themselves – or rather, Tayler – in the midst of conversation. Tayler had been the one to give a final speech, yet Lizzy had been the one to achieve the best score in the final exams. But Tayler was popular; and now she droned on about writing the speech and giving the speech. Then she wanted to know how it had been. But before either Annie or Lizzy could balm her ego, the blonde girl spotted someone behind them.

"John!" she called and waved at the person behind them. At the sound of that name, something inside Lizzy leapt. She spun around; hoping to find whatever it was that had haunted her all morning.

Behind her a dark haired young man was hugging Tayler. After a moment the two stepped apart and the young man turned to look at the two girls. His eyes were the same shade of blue as Tayler's and Lizzy suddenly remembered meeting him before – he was a cousin, only a few years older than the girls.

The feeling inside her died.

"Girls, you remember John William, my cousin?" Tayler asked, clinging to the handsome man and basking in the looks the other girls shot her way. Strange: Lizzy had never before realised how egocentric the girl was.

#####

John Sheppard woke with a gasp of pain. _A flash of light and metal rendered asunder..._ But the pain and the strange memory faded as he snuggled closer to the warm feminine bundle beside him. It was still a wonder every morning to wake beside Elizabeth. Well, it had been only two mornings, but they had been incredibly memorable mornings. And the nights had been perfect as he had known it would be from the start.

With a smile he went back to sleep and the strange dream slipped away.

"John?" a voice intruded. He turned around and hoped to go back to sleep. But the voice wouldn't go away. "Hey, John!"

"Yeah, what?" he grumbled as he finally sat up. The girl calling him offered up her gift: a mug of coffee. As he took a sip, he suddenly realised two distinct things. First: he had no idea who this girl was. Second: she made the worst coffee. He squinted at her.

"Oh, don't worry," she told him as she started dressing. "You were so out of it, I don't blame you for not remembering my name," she told him. Finally dressed, she turned and left. And at last memory – as well as a masterly hang-over – suddenly hit him. They had gone out to celebrate the final game of the season last night. There they had picked up some girls that had seemed willing to party with them.

Well, obviously the party had ended here. Just too bad he couldn't remember anything of the previous night.

_A piercing light and the shriek of metal..._

While he was shaving, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was only nineteen years old, it was the year 1985 and his whole life lay before him. Yet he felt old this morning. The eyes staring at him were those of a man who had seen too much in life.

He finally sighed and dried his face on the towel. As the soft cloth covered his eyes, he suddenly thought back to the strange dream he had last night. He had been sleeping next to a woman he had _known_, not the stranger that woke beside him this morning.

And then, of course, there was the pain. _The sound as the ship tore apart..._ But that was ridiculous, he thought as he finished with the task and donned his uniform. If there was one thing in life that defined John Sheppard, then it was his passion for flying. The moment he had graduated, he had joined the Air Force. It didn't matter that he didn't always agree with the rules and the command structure: for him it was all about the flying.

And he was getting a good education along with the deal, he had to admit. And perhaps it was time to stop acting like a teenager and grow up. If he wanted to get expelled, then fraternization with a civilian on base was a good way to do it.

So, as the sun rose pink in the east, John Sheppard, air force cadet, made a life changing decision.

#####

"I'm telling you, the dream was as real as anything you have ever experienced!" Rodney McKay told his roommate. Only minutes ago he had woken both of them with his screams. Now he was agitated and moody. He _liked_ his sleep, and even though he seldom got enough of it, those times that he actually hoped on enough sleep it shouldn't be interrupted by wild nightmares.

Besides, his nightmares were usually a lot less strange than this. And there hadn't been any clowns in it; just the nice comfort of numbers. But then something had happened in the moment the blinding flash had ripped the metal apart.

_And the pain of his body being ripped apart; wishing he could save Sitnalta..._

"Yeah, well, just go back to bed," Anthony mumbled. Rodney's roommate was not known for his understanding and compassion. But then again, neither was Rodney, to be honest.

"No," the young Rodney McKay answered; already distracted. "I think I'll work on my theory some more," he said. He pulled his books closer and looked at the equations therein. It wasn't easy, being eighteen while all of his class mates were in their mid-twenties. But being a genius had its advantages, as well. One of those was a memory for numbers.

So instead of working on the problem he was basing his thesis on, he started on a new, different set of problems. They were equations from a fading dream, but to Rodney they seemed as real as the science he had based his entire life on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rain danced upon the jumbled wreckage; the drops getting caught in the flashing lights of the ambulance, police vehicles and towing services. Every once in a while a stray wind danced with the rain, yet Elizabeth Weir saw none of this. Cold rain poured down her back, but still she was oblivious.

Instead she simply stood in the rain and wreckage; thinking.

Ten years now she had been plagued by the feeling that everything in her life had turned upside down – that she was not really living her own life. Among the things that made her feel this way, two stood out above the rest. First: she felt forever haunted by the mystery of who _John_ was. Ever since the morning of her graduation from school, when she had woken with that name on her lips, she had felt the need to search him out. But _John_ was a common name and she had found many. She just hasn't found the one she was looking for. And even then it bothered her that she _knew _she would recognise him if she ever saw him. It was just that there was no way on earth that this made any sense.

And the second thing that bothered her was the fact that she _knew_ things before they happen. This knowledge was not anything like precognition – she had made a furtive study of the phenomenon, and found it was not similar to what she was experiencing. Instead it was a dull feeling within her whenever something was about to happen to her. And as time drew closer to the exact time, she would find she had _known_ that was going to happen. She had once tried to explain it to a friend, but the friend had laughed it off as déjà vu.

This morning, too, she had woken with the dull knot in her belly. As the day had passed she had been unable to concentrate on anything, and in the end her boss had sent her home early. She knew that was not the way it should have been, yet she had not been able to do anything about her distractedness.

So she had gone home and silently waited. And when the phone rang just after eight, she had suddenly known what had happened. With shaking hands she had answered the ringing phone.

"I'm on my way," she said into the device even before the officer on the other end could inform her that her mom had just died in a car accident – before he could inform her she was now an orphan.

Numb with fear and sorrow, she got her jacket and car keys. In a daze she drove the few miles to where the ruins of her childhood lay.

The scene was one of utter destruction: the cause as unremarkable as a drunk driver skipping the traffic light and hitting the car her mom was driving.

Of itself, that would was terrible enough. But the part which really hurt was that the car Elizabeth's mom had been driving hadn't been her own. It was a car she had bought for Elizabeth as a birthday present and had been bringing over to her. What should have been a wonderful surprise was now a horrifying nightmare.

A small part of her brain suddenly remembered that today was her twenty-seventh birthday. She closed her eyes against the pain. It will be Christmas soon, but now the sparkle had gone out of the season.

"Ma'am?" a quiet voice asked at her elbow. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at the young man standing there. He was a young cop, probably a few years younger than her. He had close-cropped dark hair and a careful smile. "I'm Lieutenant Miles," he informed her. "We spoke on the phone," he explained. She simply looked at him, obviously unsettling him. He fidgeted and looked away.

Once more she closed her eyes, hoping the tears that burned in her throat would not spill over. She looked away from the young man, hurting too much to ease his discomfort.

"Have you looked in the glove compartment?" she finally asked. "The car is registered in my name," she continued; suddenly needing to talk. "She bought it for me and was bringing it for me as a birthday present."

"Happy birthday," he quietly told her, assuming correctly it was today. She looked over at him. His eyes – even in the dim light – shone with sincerity. Also, it was obvious he did not have much experience with telling people a loved one had died. If he did, he might have wondered how she knew everything before being told.

Another half an hour she spent in the cold and rain before one of the older police officers finally realised it and drove her home. His partner drove her old, battered car home behind them. Not a single word was spoken the entire journey.

Finally alone, she went through the motions of getting ready for bed. The hot shower stung on her cold skin, but somehow she did not have the energy to turn down the heat. Instead she simply stood in the hot water, letting it wash down her body. Perhaps the hurt could be washed down the drain with the water.

The rest of the routine was mechanical. In a daze she dressed and poured herself a glass of wine. But the drink stuck in her throat and she poured it down the sink. Soon after she went to bed, but found she could not sleep. Instead she wrapped herself in a robe and padded over to the window seat in her room. Her apartment was small and old, but the view was not too bad. The window seat was her favourite spot in the entire flat and she spent a great deal of time there; thinking.

Tonight the gibbous moon shone through the window. The rain had stopped, but in its wake a cold breeze had risen and the glass was frosted from the inside. The light caught in the tiny water drops, casting a ring around the moon in the window pane. For a while this phenomenon fascinated her.

But after a while her thoughts drifted and she found herself thinking about the strange foreknowledge of things she had. It wasn't something that was there every day and it was too subtle for her to prove it to anyone. Besides, the knowledge really crystallised only moments before the event. So though she might know things, there was nothing she could do about it.

For a while longer she pondered on it, but soon her thoughts strayed to the other phenomenon entwined with the first. Always she was on the lookout for the person she had called out to in her sleep. She knew he was out there, somewhere.

Suddenly her thoughts angered her. In a futile gesture at rebellion she wiped her hand over the glass, streaking the water on the surface and destroying the beauty of the moon. Instead her own eyes now stared back at her; reflected in the glass by the faint bedside light.

Instantly regret washed over her, but it was too late. Tiredly she closed her eyes and laid her forehead against the cold glass. "John, who are you?" she asked in barely a whisper. "John, _where_ are you?"

And finally she was able to cry. Tears ran down her face and onto her lap: tears for everything she had lost and everything she would never find.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

They met – of all places – at a convention. Or more specifically: at a sci-fi/Star Wars convention. This, in itself, was embarrassing enough. But the part that really bothered both of them was that a part of them instantly recognized each other. And though they both had good reasons for being at the convention, they had no reason for the recognition that was between them.

Yet, even then, the friendship between them was doomed to be difficult. But that is what happens when two such dissimilar people found there was something between them.

For Captain John Sheppard the convention had come as a surprise. He had recently asked Melinda to marry him – the logical next step. She was smart and sexy and for some reason a Star Wars fan. It was she that had procured the tickets for them, surprising him in bed with them the day of the convention. Her eyes had shone with excitement and he had been helpless to resist her enthusiasm. Who was he to refuse her? Besides, it was only one day, right? What was the worst thing that could happen?

So the two of them went to the convention: Melinda with absolute joy and John with slight dread. But he smiled at her enthusiasm and allowed his happiness to be dictated by hers.

Together they moved from stall to stall, she excited about the small things found there and he willing to smile as well. He was, after all, a bit of a fan himself.

By lunchtime, though, he was bored. Unfortunately the main event was still to come: a number of the original actors were due for a speech-and-autograph session. So he smiled when Melinda bought them a number of Jedi-sandwiches and together they sat down at a little table to enjoy the meal. She was still bright-eyed about the convention and was happily anticipating the session after lunch.

It was halfway through the meal that John realised something was nagging at him. As an Air Force-man he knew not to ignore that little feeling at the back of his neck. It had saved his skin in the past and probably would do so in the future. While smiling at Melinda, he slightly tilted his head and scanned the room. What was it that was nagging at him?

For a while the answer eluded him, and a conversation at a nearby stall crept in under his radar.

"Hey, dude," a young voice was saying, "this is just a movie convention. What do I know about the theory of hyper space?" The young man was obviously agitated and the reason soon became apparent.

"Yes, I know that," another, irritated voice answered the first. "But if you look at the math, you will see..."

John smiled at the strange conversation: some of these fans couldn't tell fantasy from reality.

"Dude, I'm not a scientist," the first voice interrupted.

There was a moment's silence. Then: "How can I break this down so that you might understand? I don't care if you are as inept as the rest of the exhibition. I am merely interested in knowing who created the concept of hyper-space."

As the second voice droned on, images suddenly flashed through John's mind. Almost as if he was experiencing it, he saw a dark corridor. They were running: he and his team. Something was wrong and they needed to get to the gate-room. Fear gnawed at him: fear that he would fail and this time they could not save everyone...

But the strange memory broke off there.

"John?" Melinda was calling to him. He shook his head and focussed on her. The voice at the nearby stall had gone, but suddenly it seemed imperative that he find the speaker. He leaned over and kissed Melinda on the cheek.

"Why don't you go get us a nice spot for the S&A?" he asked. "I'll be right with you."

"Are you okay?" she wanted to know.

"Yeah," he reassured her as he got up. He smiled once at Melinda, then turned and looked around. Though he had no idea what the speaker had looked like, he was quite sure the person he was looking for was the man now being escorted through the rear door by the two security guards. Squaring his shoulders, he headed that way.

#####

In 1928 Professor Langford discovered a curious ring in the sands of Egypt. The ring turned out to be a device that connected one part of the galaxy to another through the use of wormholes. In 1945 a young man named Ernest was the first to step through the device since it had been buried millennia ago, but it wasn't until 1994 that an archaeologist named Daniel Jackson finally discovered what it really was. According to writings found with the ring, it was called a 'stargate.' Soon after Jackson and a military team, led by Colonel Jack O'Neill, stepped through the gate to a world named Abydos.

That mission was thought to be a one-time trip, but Stargate Command discovered that the gate could dial numerous addresses. By 1997 the SGC was ready to explore the galaxy and it became the start of a secret mission: to find new technologies throughout the galaxy.

In 2004 Daniel Jackson helped in the discovery of a weapons platform in Antarctica, a device left by the gate builders: the Ancients. Soon after an expedition was led to the Ancient city of Atlantis in the Pegasus galaxy and the world that awaited humanity there.

Of all this Doctor Meredith Rodney McKay would be innocently ignorant. In another lifetime Rodney McKay had worked for the United States Air Force at area 51 and became an expert on gate technology. In fact, he was on the original mission to the Pegasus galaxy.

But in this lifetime life turned out differently for Rodney.

In fact, right at this moment the scientist was being escorted from a useless convention by two brain-dead security guards. Needless to say, Rodney was not very happy.

Just as they reached the rear doors, another man arrived on the scene. He had a cocky haircut and a smile to match.

"Excuse me," he addressed the guards. "I really need to talk to this guy."

"Sorry sir, but he was disrupting the convention," one of the muscle-minds replied.

"Yes, I know," the dark-haired man replied. Rodney guessed he was probably in his late twenties: near to his own age.

"Sorry sir," the guard tried again, slightly shoving Rodney in the direction of the doors.

"Look, I'm an Air Force officer. I will take responsibility for him, okay?" Suddenly Rodney wondered which would be worse: being evicted or going with the other man. He might look cocky, but it was obviously the kind of cocky of somebody that had absolute confidence in his own abilities.

The two guards looked at one another. Then the one with the limited vocabulary spoke: "Okay. But we'll be watching him." With a last shove the guards pushed him towards the stranger and left.

"Thank you, but I really need to go," Rodney began, pointing over his shoulder. The exit really started to look like a good idea.

"After all the trouble I went through to keep you here?" the other man asked. He put an arm around Rodney's shoulders and started to drag him towards a stall selling food. "Would you like a Jedi-sandwich?"

Rodney frowned. "Is there any citrus in it?"

"You're allergic to citrus, right?" the other man asked, but somehow it did not sound like a question. In that heartbeat between the man asking and Rodney answering, Rodney wondered how he could have come to the conclusion Rodney was allergic. Most people assumed he just didn't like citrus.

"Deathly," Rodney said. "You said you are an Air Force officer?" he wanted to know.

"Yeah," the dark-haired man answered. "Captain John Sheppard," he introduced himself. He held out his hand in greeting.

"Doctor Rodney McKay," Rodney said as he shook the man's hand.

They sat down at a small table. For a while they ate the terrible sandwiches in silence. Then:

"Okay, what do you want from me?" Rodney asked, unable to contain himself anymore.

"I don't know," John Sheppard replied. "What were you talking about at the hyper-drive table?"

"You heard that?" Rodney winced. He took another bite of his sandwich. Without swallowing he started talking. "About ten years back I woke up with this piece of math in my mind. I've been working on it ever since."

"Wait, you _dreamt_ a piece of math?" John interrupted.

"Yeah, with a clown," the scientist sarcastically replied.

"I hate clowns," the Air Force captain confessed, scowling.

"Strange," Rodney said, taking another bite. "Anyway, as it turned out, the only way the equation makes any sense is if you consider that hyper-space is real."

"Hyper-space?"

"Yeah. You create a pocket of energy in sub-space," Rodney began. A part of him wondered why he was even telling this man about his theory – the theory which had cost him all credibility in the academic community – but here was a part of him that trusted this man. Besides, even though he sneered, he had not once told Rodney he was crazy.

Strange.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

She pressed her body as close to the ground as she could while the bullets sprayed overhead; shattering the windows, punching holes in the furniture and breaking pieces of mortar and brick from the walls. A constant rain of falling dust and small debris pelted her back and shoulders.

As a silent scream faded in the noise and chaos, a single thought penetrated the fear that burned red-hot in Elizabeth Weir's mind and body: she really, truly hated Africa. Desperately she grabbed onto the thought, and as the stench of the moment burned in her nose and throat, it became the mantra inside her head: _I hate Africa, I hate Africa_.

Another volley of bullets seared overhead and Elizabeth tried to get even closer to the ground. She suddenly realized tears were staining the floor beneath her face. But she was not crying for herself as much as she was crying for the country – the continent. Africa was perhaps the place on earth with the biggest inherent contrast in its beauty and its ugliness. She had seen the breath-taking beauty of the savannah plains where you could still find nature in its original state. She had witnessed the crisp, clear mountains in the bright afternoon sun and the sound of the birds singing in the cool morning sun. She had stood transfixed in the night, looking at a sky that seemed so close she could reach up and let the stars caress her arms and face.

But then one looked away and then the ugliness of Africa would deaden the heart: naked children with bloated bellies and huge eyes; hungry for anything. Young women old at twenty-five. Young men with an arrogant swagger and the need to steal the innocence of those they come in contact with: the same way their innocence had been stolen when they had been naked and hungry. Africa was mother to enough violence that her earth ran red with blood.

It was for this world that Elizabeth was crying: this world and the fact that the same young men had finally stolen her innocence as well.

For a moment the gunfire stopped. Carefully she lifted her head to look around at the small office. Only a few months ago she had been sent here to assess the possibility of a peaceful cease-fire between the two indigenous tribes ripping the country apart. As a special envoy to the American embassy, she had been offered the use of one of their rooms in the embassy building. It was a building that had seen better days, but it had air-con; a most welcome amenity in this scorching part of the world.

But then the one tribe – heaven only knew which one – decided last week they no longer wanted the Americans on their soil. For six days now the Americans had been flocking to the embassy, desperate to be evacuated from Africa. Unfortunately the natives did not want the Americans to survive evacuation, either. It seemed their lust for blood and pain was such that they attacked the convoys leaving with people for the airport and safety.

And that was why Elizabeth had still been at the embassy: holed up in the relative safety of the building until such time as the American military could send help for the few still trapped in Africa.

"Doctor Weir?" the ambassador asked in a frightened voice.

"Yes, I'm okay," she assured him. He continued an inventory of those that had been in the office before the shooting had started, but only about half the names answered. The death-toll was rising, yet their capacity for horror had been reached and the dead no longer touched them. By now it was a fight for survival. They would mourn their dead later – after the horror had passed.

Then, in the silence, they heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter. It seemed help was finally on the way.

"We need to get to the roof!" Elizabeth yelled; the first to realise the implications of the sound. Six dust-covered and bleeding people got up from the floor. At least five others didn't get up and would never do so again. The gunfire had started abruptly and a number of those killed had been caught in the initial assault. At least one had been killed when part of the ceiling had collapsed on him.

The survivors helped one another as best they could – Elizabeth herself was assisting the young, frightened secretary. The girl was probably around her own age of twenty-eight, yet her face showed horror far beyond her years.

Together the seven of them made their cautious way to the stairway leading to the roof. It took much longer than usual as the way was littered with debris and the bodies of the fallen.

"Careful," Elizabeth whispered to the young woman as she nearly stumbled on a pool of blood. "We're nearly there."

Finally they were inside the stairway. But it was only then that they realised they had no cover in there. At each landing were huge windows – windows that would expose them to the shooters for the greatest part of the journey to the rooftop. With a shared trepidation they faced this new danger.

The roof was only two floors above them, but the nightmare journey seemed interminable. With pounding hearts and ragged breath they traversed the first set. Now the roof was only one floor above them. Unfortunately they would not be fortunate enough to reach it unscathed – and the helicopter was getting closer. It would not be able to land for more than a few seconds before the shooters would send it fleeing again.

Halfway through the final set of stairs the shooters opened fire again. Almost immediately the young secretary fell in the volley. She did not even cry out as the bullets riddled her body. Her weight pulled Elizabeth down as well, and it was probably for this reason that she survived the assault: the shooters must have thought her killed as well. But it did not mean she survived unscathed. A bullet passed only a fraction of an inch by her face. It hit the wall and a piece of brick was sent flying; cutting her face. A part of her was aware of the pain, but mostly she was numb even to this.

Finally this volley ended as well – it probably lasted less than ten seconds. As the dust settled they could hear the loud 'rat-tat-tat' of the big machine guns from the helicopter, providing cover-fire. Crawling from beneath the broken body of the secretary, Elizabeth got up. She had barely a moment to see if there were any other survivors. Only two others got up from the dust: the ambassador and a photographer that had joined them only hours before.

The three of them made the final journey to the top of the building. By now it sounded as if the helicopter was right on top of them: and it seemed they were right. The door to the roof suddenly burst open and three marines – wonderful, American marines – joined them with blazing guns. On the roof more marines were laying down cover-fire for the survivors.

"Are there any more people down there?" the marine asked Elizabeth. She shook her head; her mind and body too tired for much more.

"No, we're all that's left. The rest of them are dead."

The marine nodded. Then he held out a hand and as she took it, he helped her up the final steps. "Go!" he yelled at them. Already the ambassador and the photographer were running towards the promise of life represented by the helicopter. The marines self were converging on it as well; shooting as they went.

As they ran the final few feet, the natives took one last stab at them. Right in front of her the photographer was shot down. Too close for her to avoid, she tripped over the fallen man. As she hit the ground, she rolled to one side. Once more she lay pressed to the ground beneath her as bullets riddled the air above her. From the corner of her eye she saw the ambassador – who had still been running – fall, along with one of the marines. But the marine was wearing a flack-jacket and with a loud groan he got up. She saw that it was the same one that had spoken to her in the stairway.

The gun on the helicopter swivelled and fired in the direction the gunfire was coming from. It stopped. Half a moment later the marine from the stairway was roughly pulling her up and they were running – forever running.

Less than five seconds later she and the marines were inside the helicopter and it was already lifting off.

Tiredly she sat back against the hard metal behind her. As voices spoke around her – asking if she was the only survivor – the red numbing fog finally dissipated from her mind. When someone pressed a cool cloth against her cheek she was actually aware of it. She opened her eyes. Another marine was speaking to her.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Doctor Elizabeth Weir," she replied, suddenly wanting to hear her own voice – wanting to shout out her name over and over. "I'm Doctor Elizabeth Weir, and I'm the only survivor," she repeated.

Finally the cool mist of oblivion descended as her body finally gave in to the weariness caused by shock, fear and excessive exertion. The last thought that flittered through her mind was: _I hate Africa, but we need to stop the hurt_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

John Sheppard glared at the other man in the room with him. "Stop it!" he barked.

Instantly Rodney McKay stopped his fidgeting and that finger-snapping thing that annoyed John so much.

"Sorry," the younger man replied, "but these things make me nervous." Rodney looked in the mirror once more. "Do I look okay?" he asked his friend.

John scowled. "Rodney, it's not even your wedding!" he reminded his friend.

Rodney nodded, but still seemed agitated. "Yes, yes, I know. But I just can't help it. I've always been one of those people that dislike these types of things."

"McKay!" John barked once more, and it seemed he finally got through to the scientist.

"Okay, okay," Rodney tried placating John. He looked at the dark-haired man and John had the dreadful feeling that Rodney was going to say one of those things he usually said that nobody ever wanted to hear. He was right. "Do you really have to wear that hat?" he asked his friend.

John glanced at himself in the mirror and the fancy, Air Force cap he was wearing. "Yes, McKay," he informed his friend.

"Okay," Rodney continued. "But I was just wondering..."

"Just drop it, okay?" Even though they had become friends, John was still not always sure why that had been. For the most part he did not even like Rodney McKay. The scientist was arrogant, bad with people and completely obsessed with the idea that his equation had something to do with interstellar flight. As John was rather sure that earth's technology had not progressed anything near even leaving earth for another planet, this seemed a rather odd notion for the brilliantly smart man to cling to. Especially as Rodney claimed the math had come to him in a dream.

"You know, I still don't know why he is here," David Sheppard, John's brother, piped up. He had taken an intense and instant dislike to the abrasive scientist the day they had met. But then again, Rodney wasn't too fond of David, either.

Now Rodney stood back on his heels and glared at the other man. "The last time I checked, you _have_ to be here because you are his brother. You can't choose family, remember?" He smiled smugly. "I, on the other hand, was invited."

Before the situation could escalate even further, there came a knock. The three men turned to find Patrick Sheppard peering around the door. For a moment the older man frowned at his son as David still glared at Rodney. Then he sighed – used to the feelings between the two men – and nodded at John. "They're ready to begin," he told his older son.

John took a deep sigh, nodded and headed out the door after Patrick; the other two following behind. He really wondered sometimes why he and David were constantly at such odds with one another. He knew part of it was because he had no intention of taking over the family business, but even that was not enough reason to be constantly bickering.

Moments later the men were standing near the altar, waiting. But Nancy was not the type to be late for anything, and the men had hardly taken their places when the wedding march began. Moments later the big doors at the back of the church opened and John's bride started her long walk down the aisle.

John smiled at her, but a part of him felt outside himself: critically appraising the woman he was about to marry, and wondering.

Nancy was from a good family. She was small and delicate and evoked in him the need to protect her. As she walked down the aisle, he wondered why she had chosen to do so alone – without her father escorting her. Traditionally the bride's father walked her down the aisle, but Nancy had been firm in her determination that she should walk alone. So now her father sat to one side with the family, smiling slightly. John suddenly thought he looked sad, but as this had nothing to do with him, he ignored it and instead focussed on his bride. By now she was halfway down the long aisle, smiling and lovely. Her long blonde hair hung unbound down her back and from experience he knew what the silken strands felt like. The gauzy veil she wore could not conceal the radiant look in her brown eyes.

Finally she joined him at the altar and he lifted her veil from her face. As he did so the memory of a long-forgotten dream flashed through his mind. It was a dream of a place he had never seen and could not imagine ever existing. He and three others (one of them might actually be Rodney) were about to step through a stone ring with a crystal-blue pool inside. As he walked up to the pool, he looked back once at another woman standing on a balcony. Even from this distance he could see the worry in her green eyes. But she was strong and she knew he had no choice. So he stepped through the ring, carrying the memory of her sad eyes and determined mouth with him.

The memory lasted half a heartbeat, yet, throughout the ceremony he could not shake the feeling of it – could not shake the memory of dark brown hair and sad green eyes from his minds' eye.

#####

Rodney really wasn't one for weddings. It all seemed rather pointless to him, especially the partying afterwards. They were married, so why all the fuss with speeches and stuff? Everyone here already knew how great everyone else is – they're family, after all – so why all the fuss?

But then it was his turn to make a speech about John, and Rodney suddenly felt cold dread wash over him – a cold dread to keep the fear and apprehension company.

He walked up to the microphone; wondering where he had put the notes he had made earlier. He just knew he was going to bungle things.

"Well, friends," he began, still searching for his notes. "I've known John for a while now. We met at a..." Ah, he had found the notes! He looked at the paper, but suddenly he seemed unable to comprehend what he had meant with them. What did 'never afraid to step through' mean? No, really, what the hell did that _mean_? The next note was just as peculiar: 'strong ATA gene.'

With seething frustration he stuffed the notes back in his pocket. He suddenly realised that everyone was looking at him – probably wondering what was wrong with him.

"We met at a sci-fi convention," Rodney tried once more. That seemed to be the highlight of his speech, though. From there on out everything seemed to go downhill. After about two minutes of torture, John finally stepped up and saved his friend. Perhaps if Rodney could have this moment again, that would be what he would tell everyone was the one thing about John he appreciated most: the fact that he always stood up for his friends.

Saved by his friend, Rodney went to stand at the back of the hall, drinking champagne and wishing it was something stronger. It was as the speeches drew to a close that a woman about his age came to stand next to him. She smiled at him, and he wondered what she wanted. Though he liked women, he was aware of the fact that they did not usually approach him first. Especially women like her.

He smiled back and took another sip of bubbly. This woman was only slightly shorter than he and dressed much like Sheppard. Beneath her cap short blonde hair peeked out – in fact it seemed to go in every direction at once – and her cool blue eyes seemed to be assessing him.

He swallowed the sip and held out a hand. "Hey, I'm Doctor Rodney McKay," he introduced himself. She really was pretty.

"I know," she answered as she shook his hand. "I liked your speech," she continued.

"Really," he said, slightly baffled. "Because I think it..." but then he saw the laughter in her eyes. "Oooh," he suddenly realised, shaking a finger at her, but still smiling. "You are just saying that to make me feel better, right." He frowned. "I've heard of things like that," he added; mostly to himself. But she was still smiling. "Well, no need," he tried again, lifting his chin. "I know my own weaknesses as well as my strengths."

"I can see that," the woman replied. "By the way, I'm Samantha Carter," she added, finally giving the face a name.

"And you are in the Air Force?" he asked. Well, of course she was, stupid, he berated himself.

"Captain," she supplied her rank.

"So you shoot people and stuff?" he wondered, talking with a mouth full of fluffy something he had speared from a passing waiter.

Captain Samantha Carter slightly pursed her lips before answering: "And stuff," and he wondered what she meant by that. "But actually I'm a scientist with the Air Force," she added.

Ah, science. He knew about science. "I'm a scientist," he proudly told her, pointing at his chest and grinning.

This time she slightly narrowed her eyes. "Really," she asked. Rodney thought she looked impressed.

"Yes, but I doubt if you'll understand what I'm working on," he smiled. He really loved impressing women.

Captain Carter smiled some more. "Well, then perhaps one of these days you will have to show me," she told him. She handed him a nice little card with her name in silver. "Call me," she told him before leaving.

Rodney couldn't believe his luck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

A slow horror spread through Samantha Carter as she looked around the office. There were papers, books and pieces of metal covering every surface. On the walls were different types of board – white and black (including one painted with a green-coloured black-board paint) – on which all kinds of equations were written.

"I'm sorry, I...I thought I was meeting you tonight at the…" and as she turned around she caught Rodney McKay in the act of snapping his fingers while trying to remember the restaurant she had suggested. She could also see him loose his train of thought.

Well, she knew she looked good – she had worked hard at it. For a while she had thought wearing her uniform might be the way to go, but instead she had opted for an outfit that looked casual, but was in fact picked out to make her look her best. The jeans she was wearing were tight enough to show a trimmed body, but loose enough to leave much to the imagination. Her top was a soft blue that matched her eyes perfectly and the lace inset was meant to draw the attention to her toned arms. The only thing she had little control over was her hair, as that had been cut short for expediency's sake.

And she hated the outfit – hated feeling like she had dressed like a prostitute even if she did not plan anything like that.

But as Rodney desperately tried to straighten his hair and clothes, she tried to fake an interest in what he was saying. So she turned towards him, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes wide with wonder.

"I worked late again, didn't I?" he finally asked.

"Oh, no," she reassured him, for in fact it was still early. They had not planned to meet for at least another four hours. As she had suspected, it had taken the scientist less than twelve hours to call her on the number she had given him. And stumbling through the invitation, he had made plans with her to meet her at a nice little restaurant just down the street.

But Samantha wasn't interested in the man – definitely not! From what little she knew of him – both what she had read in the file the Air Force had on him as well as what she had seen of him at the wedding – she knew he was petty, arrogant and extremely bad with people. Unfortunately he was probably one of the smartest men on the planet as well as one with mathematical calculations that might just be Goa'uld.

It was the year 1998, and she had been part of the SGC and SG-1 for just over a year now. In fact, just over two months ago she and the rest of her team had destroyed two Goa'uld ships in orbit around earth. Since then the government had found a number of leaks regarding the SGC, and they were desperately trying to seal them.

This mission, in fact, one Hammond had to bully her into, was to determine if Rodney McKay was receiving any information from a leak and who that leak might be. That was why she had crashed the wedding, hoping for an opening and an introduction.

Part of her was miffed that she had succeeded so far, for now she had to spend time with the scientist.

She pointed at one of the boards – the one she found interesting – hoping to slow the tide of stuttered words from the man. "What is that?" she asked him. But part of it she already knew: that was why she had been the one selected for this mission. She was one of the only people in the world that would recognize workable hyperspace theory.

"That is just something I'm fiddling with," Rodney McKay informed her; looking uncomfortable. Bells went off in her head.

"Indulge me," she smiled at him.

He stepped closer to the board. "Well, with this, one could create a hyperspace window," he began, waving at the board. "The theory is that..." But he broke off and looked over at her. He shook a finger at her. "You know, it's unfortunate that I'm really attracted to you," he informed her. He seemed to consider the statement.

"Unfortunate?" she echoed, not really sure what to make of that.

"Yeah," he said, still deep in thought. "I've always been attracted to dumb blondes," he said.

A hundred things flashed through her mind: thoughts on how to hurt him, how to degrade him and many thoughts on leaving. Instead she smiled at him.

"Really?" she asked.

He seemed to focus then and looked at her. "Well, anyway," he continued. "You wanted to know about my hyperspace theory?" he asked and she eagerly nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Well," he said, returning to the board. "As I said, with this you can open a hyperspace window, in essence travelling through sub-space." Once more he stopped, and she wondered what embarrassing thing he was about to say now. Instead he simply looked at her for a moment.

"What?" she asked; smiling. Her face felt like cracking, though.

"I've shown some of this to the Air Force before. They thought I was crazy and dismissed me," he accused. She suddenly realised that even though he didn't get it with people, he was still smart enough to know when something was amiss. She suddenly cheered a little. He might still prove to be an interesting opponent.

"Well, perhaps I don't know enough to tell if you are crazy," she assured him. She smiled some more and he seemed to be reassured. In fact, he was willing to let his suspicions drop and returned to the white-board and the familiar equation. What followed turned out to be an interesting, but fruitless, few hours of information.

#####

"He's a cook, sir," Samantha told General Hammond as she towelled her hair dry. She had just stepped out of the shower when the phone ranged. It seems everyone expected her to have the information they needed by now. It proved just how desperate they were to plug the leaks.

"A cook?" the General asked.

"Yes sir." She thought about that for a moment. Gathering her thoughts, she continued: "He definitely has hyperspace-theory worked out."

"Then there's a leak," the General barked. He was good at barking.

Even though he could not see her, she shook her head and slightly bit her lip. "No sir. I really think he figured it out by himself. He really might be smart enough to do so."

"But you can't be sure?" Hammond barked.

"Well, sir, he believes the theory came to him in a dream. But even so, there are evidence that he has been working on this for nearly a dozen years. The stargate wasn't even active back then," she argued. Though she was completely certain McKay wasn't a spy – or connected with one – the reason she knew wasn't something Hammond would understand. She needed reason with him, not instincts. How could she explain to her commanding officer that nobody in their right minds would ever take the scientist serious; that he has been degraded to a lowly teaching position at a secondary university because he seemed obsessed with something only a handful of people in the world could understand could even exist?

"Are you sure?" Hammond asked.

"Besides, sir," she continued. "It is only the first part of the equation that has anything to do with hyperspace theory, anyway. The rest of it is – well, sir – incomprehensible," she tried to explain.

"Explain," Hammond narked some more.

"Sir, if there is a spy," she continued as she sat down at the dresser. "If there is a spy, he had given McKay either wrong information or..."

Again she saw the math in front of her, reluctant to voice what she thought of it.

"Captain?" Hammond prodded her.

"Well, sir, if this is a hyperspace equation, then something terrible has gone wrong," she finally said what she thought. During the time she had spent with McKay, she had suddenly realised what it was that was nagging at her – and at him – about the equation. "The thing is, sir, it seems as if the math is that of a hyperspace drive, combined with that of a quantum singularity. There is no way that Goa'uld technology would allow any ships to fly – even in hyperspace – through a quantum singularity. The whole nature of a singularity is subspace, therefore it would influence hyperspace. Hence the fact that any reasonable hyperdrive navigation system would not allow a route that would include a singularity." She took a deep breath. "All in all, in one sense it does not make sense, and therefore it is impossible that it is a leak that had given the information to Rodney McKay."

"Now I know why O'Neill always insists on the short version," Hammond remarked. "Okay, Captain," Hammond finally relented. "Get back here as soon as you can," he ordered her. But in fact it was the one thing that could cheer her up after this mission.

"Yes sir!" she gladly replied.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Are you still doing that?" a soft voice interrupted Elizabeth. She looked up with a smile at the lovely woman leaning a denim-clad hip against her desk. She was still sometimes amazed at how lovely Annie had turned out after dumping her baby-fat. The Annie of high school had completely gone, to be replaced by this slender, determined woman. Only the soft dark eyes, filled with compassion and curiosity, had remained. Two years married now, she was halfway through her first pregnancy and lovelier than ever.

"What?" Elizabeth asked of her friend of nearly twenty years.

"Looking for that one name on the list," Annie replied, indicating the paper Elizabeth had been perusing when she had been interrupted.

Elizabeth smiled slightly, looking down at the list of names. It was the list presented to her every term of the new students she would be teaching. "Am I that predictable?" she wondered out loud.

Annie came around the desk and sat down on it next to her friend. "Honey, the one constant about you is your search for this man. It's not something you even realise you're doing," she explained when Elizabeth would have interrupted. "But whenever you walk into a room, your eyes search it. And I see the disappointment when you realise he is not there."

Elizabeth sighed. "I don't even know who I'm looking for, you know," she remarked. Of all the people she knew, Annie was the only one with whom she had shared this secret: the secret of John.

Just then a soft knock interrupted the two women, and Annie smiled. "It's probably one of your students. I'll leave you to him," she grinned.

"Hmm," Elizabeth teased back. "Because your kids are so much fun," she said, referring to the horrors Annie had in her class only a few weeks ago. Annie pulled a face and as she left, she let the visitor in.

As it turned out, Elizabeth's visitor was not a student. The man entering her office was perhaps a year or two older than she, with wild hair and small glasses riding low on his nose. She stood up and smiled, holding out her hand. For a long moment he stood staring at her, his eyes wide.

"Hello, can I help you?" she asked. The man seemed nervous and for just the briefest of moments she felt she knew him – _knew _him the way she had known about her mother's accident and the way she _knew_ John.

"I am Doctor Radek Zelenka," he introduced himself, a heavy accent lacing his words. "I have been searching for you," he added. For a moment his eyes travelled to the scar on her cheek that no amount of make-up could conceal. But instead of all the reactions she had come to expect, his mild puzzlement was one she had never before seen. He pointed slightly. "I think you, too, have a strange story to tell," he told her.

Puzzled, but not offended, she indicated he should sit down. She sat back in her chair as well and waited for him to speak.

"For fifteen years now I have been searching for you," he began. His words and grammar were neat, but he had the tendency to string some words together and to stretch others out, making his speech erratic. With his looks and accent it would be easy to dismiss him as unintelligent, but there was something in his eyes that belied this impression.

"Do I know you, Doctor Zelenka?" she asked. Part of her was astonished at this man, but another part of her wasn't. And it was this part that frightened her.

"No," he said. But then he shook his head violently and gestured with both hands. "Yes, you do. I don't know." He looked distressed. "It's very – very strange. I know you, but I know we've never met. I have been tracking some of you down, but I can't remember all the names..."

Something about what he had said earlier suddenly registered with her. "You said you have been looking for me for fifteen years?" she made sure.

He looked up, suddenly seeming grateful. "Yes. I woke from what I thought was a dream one morning. I remember a flash of light..."

_A flash of light and the sound of metal tearing apart..._

"I thought it was a dream, but then I found this at a dig my parents had been working on," he said softly and slid something across the desk. It was a small golden medallion with a single symbol engraved on it.

"I know this," she nearly whispered. She looked at Zelenka. "How do I know this?"

"The same way I know it," the young man said, looking at her. She could not hold his gaze and looked down at the pendant. The symbol looked like an inverted 'V' with a smaller circle on top. She knew she had never seen it before, yet it was as familiar to her as the scar on her face.

"I've been remembering," the Doctor now added. But she was still looking at the medallion, letting it play between her fingers.

"Tell me," she asked him.

"About four years from now, we – me and you and the rest – go to Atlantis." There was a spark of wonder in his eyes, but behind it she saw fear. She suddenly wondered how many people have dismissed him and his story. She pushed the pendant back at him.

"The city did sink beneath the sea," she said as a sliver of a memory – a memory of a memory, perhaps – slipped into her mind.

"But just not on earth," the wild-haired man finished the thought. "I've been remembering your names and I've been looking for you. But I remember only partially," he explained with a look of sadness in his eyes.

"How many have you found yet?" she asked. She laced her fingers together and looked at him; almost trying to see into his mind.

"You are the fist," he replied. "I've been looking for the arrogant scientist for a while, Rodney, but I cannot find him." Into her mind's eye floated the face of a slightly dumpy man, with blonde hair and a very expressive mouth. "I think he used to have many doctorates, but still I can't find him."

"How did you find me?" she asked, slightly narrowing her eyes.

He shrugged. "I remembered your last name," he simply told her.

She looked down for a moment, but soon her gaze returned to his. "Why look for us?" she wondered. "What difference will it make?"

He shrugged, looking helpless. "I don't know. But this is all wrong. That symbol," he said, nodding at the pendant still lying between them, "is supposed to be part of our lives. We have lived this time before."

"But things have changed?" she asked, yet it was not really a question.

He looked at her scar, drawing her attention to it. "I remember you, but not that."

She touched the scar for a moment. "I got it in Africa," she told him. Her answer seemed to excite him into a kind of frenzy.

"Exactly!" He got up as he spoke; something in him making it impossible to sit still anymore. "You never went to Africa!" he exclaimed. "You joined another team and we went to Atlantis!" He shrugged. "Or we will have gone."

She looked at the strange man. It suddenly dawned on her that, should this man really be telling the truth – as strange as it might seem, this would explain why everything in her life – ever since that evening in 1985 – had felt upside-down. But what difference would it make if she was to go and look for that lost life? How could anything be different?

She looked once more at the pendant. It was the point of origin, she knew. Whatever that meant.

"This started your journey, did it not?" she asked, lightly touching the pendent.

He looked over at her and she could feel the great number of things he wanted to say, but in the end he surprised her: "You can keep it."

She looked up at him. "Who is John?" she asked.

Zelenka closed his eyes. "I don't remember," he said forcefully; his glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed it back up. "He was the leader of the expedition, I think." He shook his head. "He and Rodney were friends." He lowered his chin slightly as he regarded her. "Why do you ask?"

Elizabeth picked up the pendant. For another moment she looked at it, but then she closed her hand around it. She looked up at Zelenka; never afraid to face her fears. "I think I was in love with him," she replied. Then she smiled and leaned towards Zelenka. "And if I had been on that mission, _I_ would have been leading it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

They sat across from one another, the big table separating them as surely as the hurt separated their lives and suddenly John wondered how it had all gone so wrong? Who was to blame or was there even any blame to be thrown around? Hadn't their lives been running in different directions for so long they could no longer find the common ground they had started from?

Nancy sighed. She looked spectacular: chic and trim. Her features were as delicate as when he had first met her, her hands as neatly groomed and her hair as soft and stylish. "After all that has happened, don't you think I at least deserve to know who she is?" she suddenly asked.

_Who she is?_ No matter how John wracked his brain, there was no way that sentence made any sense to him. Their brief marriage might not have been the happiest ever – and heaven only knew, he wasn't the best of husbands – but there had never been another woman. _Never_. If she knew anything about him, it ought to be that he was loyal – even if it killed him.

Delicately she pouted – that expression that was not completely an expression; at least not enough of one to mar the flawless perfection of her skin. "Who is 'sad green eyes,' John?" she slightly clarified.

John closed his eyes for a moment. Ah, so that was what she was referring to. He opened his eyes to regard her, wondering how he was going to explain this one.

The fact of the matter was that there was nobody else; not really. _Sad green eyes_ was not some_one_, but rather it was a concept inside his mind that he could hardly explain. In truth, how could it be someone? All it was, was the idea of a pair of sad green eyes that haunted him. There had never been anyone behind those eyes; definitely not someone he had ever met. Perhaps, once, it might have been a dream that had somehow stayed with him. But he remembered nothing of it or the face that went with the perfect image of _sad green eyes_.

Instead _sad green eyes_ had become the ideal he judged his life by. Especially the part with Nancy, that much was true. _Sad green eyes_ had come to mean the dream of someone who could be his lover as well as his partner, someone who would care for him yet know him enough to let him do what he must do. When Nancy carped at him about flying and a mission she deemed especially dangerous, _sad green eyes_ would understand that he needed to go and would understand – even if the heart behind the eyes would break. And later, when he realised Nancy had married him in hopes of his family fortune, it had been _sad green eyes_ that had accepted him even if he was nothing more than an Air Force Major.

So though _sad green eyes_ didn't really exist, it was true that he had betrayed Nancy in his mind with that of a dream.

And now there she sat, delicate tears in her eyes, asking for an answer. _Deserving_ an answer, but forever unable to understand what she was asking of him.

"Please," she begged in her small damsel-in-distress voice. "Who is she?" It used to be a voice that brought out the knight in armour in him, but now all he wanted to shout at her was that _sad green eyes_ would never have needed him to save her, she would have been strong enough to stand on her own and face down an army if need be!

Of course none of that got said and he realised the only way to deal with this would be to allow her the thought that there _had_ been someone else. If he was the guilty party, she would allow it to finish. But if she thought he implied _she_ was not good enough, the day would not end well.

The only problem was that suddenly he had no name to give her. He knew a few women, obviously. But right now he couldn't think of anyone that would suffice. If he gave her a name of someone she knew she would suspect a lie. Just too bad it didn't seem as if he was going to be able to pull a name out of thin air.

Just then a name flashed into his mind – a name that would work, but a name that was probably a bad idea.

So with utmost seriousness he leaned forward. "Meredith," he solemnly told her. She looked aghast.

"Meredith?" she shrieked. "_Meredith_?" She seemed ready to explode – well, as much as her composure would allow her to explode. But with an obvious effort she calmed herself and glared at him. "Who is this _Meredith_?" she spat.

"Meredith...Conroy," he lamely supplied some more information. "I met her at a...convention. Years ago." He leaned back and really wasn't surprised that she seemed confused.

"Years ago?" she finally managed.

He tried to look convincing, but probably just ended up pulling his nose up. "Yeah, years ago," he confirmed. Well, if one looked at it from a certain point, this was true. "Probably," he amended. "Possibly."

Perhaps she knew him too well. Or perhaps she did not know him at all, but either way, the rest of the hour passed with her telling him how unfortunate he was even to have been born. Nancy never yelled – she was too dignified for that – but she raised her voice and she pitched her voice until he was sure the glass would crack.

And perhaps she was correct in accusing him of infidelity, for somewhere in the midst of her tirade the thought of _sad green eyes_ entered his mind, and he was able to take refuge within the thought. Behind the safety of _sad green eyes_ he was unassailable; safe.

About half an hour later the lawyers walked in. Another half an hour later all of them walked out: John did not really care what she took, as long as it could end. He had wronged her: that much was true. And one day he would beg her forgiveness. But she had wronged him as well and he had no desire to prolong a relationship that only hurt them both.

As he left Rodney came up to him. Strange, Nancy had never liked McKay, either. He grinned slightly at the irony. She had once told Rodney he would never be part of her life. And though John and Rodney's friendship was peculiar, it was one of the few friends John always knew he could count on.

"You got _it_ all sorted out?" Rodney asked, circling his finger on _it_. Nancy walked by and glared at the two of them, but fortunately McKay was either unaware or unconcerned with her mood.

"Yeah, we got _it_ sorted out," John sarcastically answered. In silence the two men set out down the street. Ten minutes later the two of them were seated at a dingy bar with a beer each; McKay complaining about weak American brews. Well, too bad.

"I know we don't normally talk about this kind of thing," Rodney began, looking extremely uncomfortable, "but if you want to...you know," he tried, waving a finger again and nearly spilling his beer.

"That's okay," John assured him. But for a moment Rodney's eyes caught John's and John suddenly had a sinking feeling. "McKay, what colour is your eyes?" he wondered.

"Blue," Rodney replied. "Actually..." But John interrupted him, sighing in relief but still worried.

"Rodney, do me a favour, won't you?"

For just a moment Rodney looked unhappy at being interrupted, but then again, he was rather used to it by now. So he sighed and waved his fingers in the general direction of the barman. "Sure, but just get us some of that twisting chip-things," he bargained.

"Just never, ever let Nancy know your first name is Meredith, okay?" John pleaded with a grimace. _Sad green eyes_, right, he thought.

Rodney looked up at that. For a moment it seemed he wanted protest the strange request, but even though Rodney was ignorant of human relationships, he was smart. Smart enough to just nod and order another round of beer.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Rodney looked over to where John was trying to tame his hair.

"I thought security was usually handled by the FBI or the Secret Service or something like that," he wondered out loud. In the mirror John pulled a face.

"Yeah, well, they asked us to help out tonight," the Colonel said. Rodney thought about that for a moment.

"Yeah, but I didn't know the Air Force did things like this," he tried again. The truth was, he really didn't care what the Ait Force did. But annoying John was fun.

John scowled at him. "No, Rodney, the Air Force doesn't usually do things like this. But there's going to be some African leader that's going to present a thing to a lady and the BFI asked us to help out. Okay?" he asked, obviously exasperated.

Rodney frowned. "Yes, but..."

"Look, McKay," John interrupted as he turned around and plopped his cap on his head. "It's a ceremony. We'll look around, have some canapés and leave before midnight, okay?"

Rodney knew what John was talking about, though. It was an international dinner where a number of African and Eastern dignitaries were going to try and show the world they were civilised and nice. One of the main speakers was going to be a Doctor Weir, who had been hurt in a conflict in one of said countries. The president of that country was going to try and make everything better by giving her a nice little gift. Unfortunately the president of that same country has received death threats and that's why John was going: you can't have another country's president killed on American soil.

But that was not the only thing Rodney knew about the dinner. Now he preened slightly. "Well, I too have a ticket to tonight's little get-together," he bragged as he held out the embossed card. The card was just a formality, though. Anyone whose name did not appear on the list the big guards had at the doors, would not get in.

John scowled at him. "How did you get invited to a state dinner?" he sneered.

Rodney shook the card slightly. "You remember that blonde little interpreter from Georgetown I was seeing a while back..."

"Jennifer?" John asked. "The one with the nice legs?"

For a moment Rodney looked deflated as thoughts of loss of those legs hurt his male ego. "Well, yes, that one," he replied. But then he cheered up again. "She is on the committee that organised this thing and she got me a seat," he proudly added.

John scowled; again. "And why would you be interested in an international dinner?" he wondered.

Now Rodney smiled. "Because Radek Zelenka will be there as well," he said with a flourish. Just too bad this exclamation had little effect on John. Rodney rolled his eyes. "Remember," he said, waving his hand, "I told you he was the only other person in the world with research into black hole theory that's even close to what I'm doing? Well, I want to talk to him," he ended, still not sure John realised how important this was to him. But then, he probably did.

So Rodney stuck his card back into his pocket and sauntered off to his room to get dressed. It really bothered him that he had had to ask John to help him out with a place to stay, but after that incident with the nuclear particle and the students the university had fired him for good. Really, nobody got hurt – much. And he was sure none of them had suffered any lethal doses of radiation. Well, it wasn't like Rodney wanted kids, either.

But there were few friends willing to take in a brilliant scientist down on his luck; fortunately Rodney had such a friend.

#####

"I feel sick," Radek complained as Elizabeth helped him with his bow tie. He hated dressing up and he hated fancy dinners and stuff. He was completely aware that he was not a great catch – even if he was incredibly smart. He was socially inept and shy and where some accents might seem sexy or smart, his often made him sound funny.

Besides, such gatherings were inevitably boring – very boring.

"Everybody will be watching," he continued. By now Elizabeth had done with his tie and was trying to figure out what to do with his untameable hair. But as he complained she pinned him with that steely gaze of hers.

"I thought that was the idea, Radek?" she asked with a slightly lifted eyebrow. "Perhaps if someone from the Atlantis-expedition sees us and recognizes us, we might find more of us."

"Yes, I know that," the Czech replied. His eyes strayed to the scar that marred her face. Today the man that had ordered the hit on the embassy was called a president. But seven years ago, in 1997, he had been nothing more than a terrorist leader that had been responsible for the deaths of thousands. And now that man had personally asked Elizabeth to be at the dinner so he could hand her a gift as recompense for what she had been through.

Elizabeth saw the direction of his gaze and lightly touched the scar for a moment. Her eyes turned hard and Radek swallowed as he realised he had hit a nerve.

"No public handshake or apology or trinket will ever change the past or the way I feel about the man," she told Radek, referring to the terrorist leader/president. "But if you are correct and there is another destiny out there waiting for us, I need to find it. We need to find it. And if that means dressing up and smiling at the world and the cameras and anyone else who might ask it, then so be it. But you and I both know there's something strange happening. We need to find the rest of the Atlanteans."

Radek regarded her for a moment. For nearly four years now they have been friends – ever since that day he had walked into her office and told her the most fantastic tale. He still could not believe she had believed his story. But she had and together they had been searching their own memories as well as any data they could find on the matter. And somewhere in between they had become fast friends.

So now he nodded, drawing another critical stare from her as he knew he had just messed up whatever she had been trying to do to tame his hair. But he offered her his arm and she smiled and together they left for the formal dinner.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

John stood to the back, looking over the crowd. The dinner had been in progress for almost an hour, yet up until now he had not taken any notice of the proceedings. Instead he had been scanning the crowd; trying to look as formidable as possible. He had spotted Rodney earlier – indeed, it had been impossible to miss him, as the scientist had actually waved at him to draw his attention.

His attention shifted now to the podium as the president of some little African country stood up. He was smartly dressed and perfectly black. Most people of colour (African-Americans, whatever) were shades of brown – authors usually described their skin colour in shades of coffee or chocolate. Well, this guy would then be espresso-coloured – espresso without the creamy foam on top. But what really drew the attention was not his dramatic colouring, but the cold, cruel pig-eyes sunk in vast amounts of fat. In fact, John had no idea how the pretty woman standing next to him – hey, probably the one Rodney had spoken about earlier – could so calmly shake his hand and smile at him. But the dark-haired woman seemed serene as she smiled at the crowd. Actually, there was something about her that drew his attention; that fascinated him.

#####

Elizabeth smiled at the terrorist, accepting what turned out to be a gold nugget. She shook his hand and felt revulsion burning in her throat. Yet she did all that was required while smiling at the cameras, keeping in mind that this was an international dinner; covered by international media. If there was one way to get a message – even a silent one – to all those she needed to reach, this was it.

She nodded once more and Radek – on queue – stood up and came to fetch her at the podium.

#####

John watched as an Einstein-haired man stood up and made his way towards the podium, suddenly realising the he was the lady's date for the evening.

#####

Elizabeth smiled her first real smile as she watched Radek making his way through the crowd. He was one of the smartest men she knew, as well as sweet and considerate. But he was really not comfortable in a suit and tie.

As he reached a point roughly halfway between their seats and the podium, a deafening noise filled the air for only a moment before searing white pain flashed through her body and mind.

#####

For another moment John's eyes returned to the podium. The woman was smiling at the wild-haired man with a kind of tenderness John envied him. But in that moment an incredible explosion shook the room: a bomb had gone off beneath the podium.

People screamed and the noise of falling debris was almost as loud as that of the initial explosion. Those still able to move were running for the exits, helped along by the security and Air Force officers. But instinct picked John from the ground, where the force of the explosion had thrown him, and propelled him to where the podium had been only seconds ago. He stumbled over broken furniture and pieces of fallen ceiling. Underfoot glass crunched as he made his way inexorably forward with no regard for personal safety.

Finally he reached the point of the explosion. Already the African body-guards were helping their fallen leader to safety. It seemed that though he had been cut by the debris, he was fine. But there was another body lying crumpled amidst the fallen pieces of the podium.

He pulled away a piece of the ceiling partially covering the body. She lay on her front, her head turned to the side. Yet he could not see her face, as her dark hair covered it.

He kneeled next to her, quickly checking for any signs of injury. When he didn't find any, he carefully turned her over. She appeared to be around his age, with dark hair and delicate features. She was unconscious, yet even so he could see a determination etched on her face. Somehow she seemed painfully familiar.

It was only then that he noticed a long, silver scar on her cheek. It should have subtracted from her beauty, but it did not.

The woman stirred and he suddenly knew that her eyes would be green. _Sad green eyes_. Yes, she would have sad green eyes. Somehow, though he had never seen her before, her eyes had been haunting his life for over twenty years now.

And then she did open her eyes...

#####

Elizabeth looked at the man leaning over her. _She knew him_. It was almost as if her thoughts had clarified for the first time in her life, and that which arose from the clarity was the undeniable knowledge that everything Radek had said was true. Everything they had talked about and dreamed about really did happen. And that this man was true.

She smiled. "John?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question.

The man looked stricken. But as the Air Force man his uniform claimed him to be – as well as what she now knew – he pulled his emotions together. "Yes," he replied. "Do I know you?"

She felt tired and cold, but somehow that seemed insignificant compared to having finally found him. She shook her head. "No. But I've been looking for you," she told him. As she looked into his green eyes, she suddenly felt hot tears turning to ice on her face. Why was she crying? She had found the man she had been looking for all her life: she had found John.

For just a moment she closed her eyes as the light suddenly burned them. But it did not matter; everything will be all right now. All the hurt and sorrow of the past seemed to slip away on a tide of peace.

#####

As she opened her eyes, he felt the answers he had been looking for all his life in her gaze. Her eyes focussed on his as she smiled. And then she called his name.

For a heartbeat his world came to an end. Her eyes were so sad he felt his heart breaking; yet she was smiling. _Sad green eyes_...

"Do I know you?" he wondered out loud. But as she knew him, so did he know her.

If he had thought her sad green eyes could tear at his heart, then the peace that came over her as she spoke again was enough to drive any man to his knees. "No," she said on a whisper. "But I've been looking for you."

For a moment her green gaze locked with his and he could see all of his future and relived all of his past through her eyes. Then her eyes closed on a smile.

Suddenly afraid she was gone; he took her in his arms. He held her head close to his shoulder with one hand; with the other he stroked her hair. Desperately he wanted to call to her, but he did not even know her name.

#####

She felt warm breath on her face and she forced her eyes to open. It was John; holding her. She tried to reach up to him; to wipe the sorrow from his eyes, but she did not have enough strength to lift her arm.

Instead she did the only thing she could. For a last time her eyes locked onto his. "Thank you for finding me," she told him.

Gently he shook her. "Don't go," he pleaded with her. "Not now that we've just found one another."

She only smiled. "I've loved you for so long," she whispered. Every breath now was a battle of its own. "I will love you again on Atlantis," she promised as the world faded.

_The sound of tearing metal; followed by the silence of eternity. Then, out of the darkness, the light of birth..._

#####

"I will love you on Atlantis," she whispered. Then the sad green eyes closed one last time and he actually felt the life leaving her body. He pulled her closer: so close it hurt. But then, his heart had broken on her whisper.

Part of him wanted to scream and shake her: beg her to come back; demand doctors to restore her life.

Instead he gently kissed her eyes. _I will love you on Atlantis_, he heard her final words echo in his mind. "On Atlantis," he promised; having no idea what that meant yet feeling absolutely sure that was how it was meant to be.

How long he must have sat like that he did not know: long enough for another to join them, though.

"It was supposed to be different," a strange voice softly said. John looked up at the strange man that had been this lady's date. Aside from a few abrasions, the man had survived the explosion intact.

"Who was she?" John asked. His heart might know her, but his mind could not supply a name.

The man kneeled next to them; on the other side of the woman he still held in his arms. Carefully John lay her down on the dust en debris. The stranger with the strange accent touched her hair.

"Her name was Elizabeth Weir." For a few seconds the man stayed silent. Then he looked up at John and smiled wryly. "You are her John, no?" he asked. "The one she has been looking for?"

Looking down once more, John nodded. "What happened here?" he asked of the stranger.

The man shrugged. "Destiny," he said; aware John wasn't referring to the explosion, but to the strange encounter.

Another presence joined them: Rodney.

No, not just Rodney, but another man as well. This man had light brown hair combed into a Mohawk and a gentle face. He seemed familiar, somehow. As familiar as the man with the strange accent.

"Oh, dear," the newest arrival said in a thick Scottish brogue. He reached down towards Elizabeth. "Let me see, I'm a doctor," he assured them.

But John knew it was too late: his hands were covered in blood. And indeed, the doctor pushed away her jacket to reveal an immense gash in her chest: the red of blood lost on the black of the jacket, but bright against the white silk of her top.

The three of them looked down at Elizabeth. What could one say in a moment like this? What was there that could ever make this moment right again?

"It was supposed to be different," the Czech – for John knew that was the accent – softly told them. He reached slightly into her top, but just as John wanted to protest, the man withdrew his hand. Trailing from his fingers was a gold chain that he carefully lifted over her head. He handed it to John. Now the piece of gold – still warm from her skin – lay cooling in his palm. The Czech pointed at the symbol on the pendant. "That is the point of origin," he cryptically said. He tapped it once more. "That is earth."

Then he turned the pendant over to reveal another symbol: this one so familiar it nearly took John's breath away. The wild-haired man pointed at it. "And that is Atlantis," he said the same moment John breathed the name himself. _Atlantis_. This was what she had meant: _I will love you on Atlantis_. Somewhere out there was a city they both loved yet had never seen: a city where they should have lived their lives.

John closed his hand around the pendant as he got up. He looked down at the dead woman.

"Goodbye, Elizabeth," he whispered. But it was more than just her he would be leaving behind on the cold floor.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The helicopter was an older model, one designed and used during the first decade of the twenty-first century, yet under the skilful hands of Colonel John Sheppard it still handled like a deer in flight. About five years ago the American Air Force had designed the stacked-rotor helicopter and had been building at such a rate that they were now the standard helicopter in use. Only on missions such as these were the traditional-design helicopters still used. No need to waste a good, new piece of machinery.

Another nearby explosion shook the helicopter and John ground his teeth in effort. That had been very close, he thought. The Russians' aim was improving. Well, at least they're still using regular projectile-weapons, he mused. Even if they were heat-seeking, the missiles were still relatively inaccurate and easier to evade.

Suddenly he heard the dreaded _pling-pling-pling_ of small calibre fire hitting the helicopter. He checked the dials, but apparently the weapons-fire had missed anything vital. The hydraulics and steering were fine and the oil and fuel pressure remained constant.

A warning flashed on the console as another incoming missile was detected.

"Incoming!" he reported into the recorder. But that was all he had time for as he manoeuvred the aircraft in an evasive pattern. The ground-to-air missile missed the helicopter and detonated just to the port side. Though it missed, the force of the explosion caused the helicopter to buck and John had to fight it for control. And just as he regained control he had to climb rapidly to avoid a hill that had seemed to sprout out of nowhere.

As he crested the hill blue electricity suddenly danced along the outer shell of the helicopter. All systems instantly shut down and John knew he had been zatted. Blast the scientist that had engineered the Zoned Amplification Technology; or the zatgun. And in all honesty, what did that mean: Zoned Amplification Technology? It almost sounded as if someone had a word they wanted explained and so had turned it into a useless acronym.

Well, useless acronym or not, the zatgun was effective and it would take longer to initiate the helicopter's systems than he had before crashing. It seemed like he was going down and as this was one of those missions with full deniability from the Air Force, he could not even expect a rescue.

The helicopter swerved and dived as gravity took over. Moments later she started spinning as the tail fan stopped altogether and the main rotor caused the body to go into a spin. Fortunately the hill was still the closest bit of earth to the helicopter and the spin had hardly started before he crashed into said hill.

He fully expected the helicopter to explode, but as he took the effort to glance at the fuel gauge, he saw that the needle had plummeted to zero. Maybe the bullets of earlier _had_ hit the fuel tank, but had hit the float as well, giving a false reading in the cockpit. Well, it didn't matter.

All of this flashed through his mind in less than a second and by now all of his attention was given to bracing himself as best he could as the helicopter ploughed into the earth. Part of the main rotor broke off and the blade knifed through the air and impacted into a nearby tree; nearly cutting it in half.

Finally the grinding and screech of tortured metal subsided and John was surprised to find he was alive and relatively unhurt. But as he moved his left arm to pry open the door, searing pain nearly made him pass out. With his right arm he reached over and found he had broken his left arm. Damn.

Clenching his teeth, he used his right arm to open the door and stumbled to the ground: or rather: stumbled into the ground. The earth of the hill was so soft the cockpit was halfway buried in the sand. He would have to dig his way out of it before he could go any further.

The effort took much longer than it should have, as his broken arm was of no use and was steadily sapping his strength. Also, about half an hour after impact, the adrenaline in his system started wearing off and he started shaking uncontrollably. Damn.

Finally he managed to free himself from the wreckage and emerged to stand on the hill. Tiredly he flopped down onto the ground. His training told him to get moving, but his body was demanding rest. So for only a moment he sat with his back resting against the twisted metal that would never fly again. He closed his eyes; hoping he would not fall asleep.

No problem, it turned out. He had barely closed his eyes as he heard the _tzee_ of a stacked-rotor helicopter approaching. Instinctively he rose to his feet and started running down the hill; hoping to find some camouflage. Out here on top of the hill he was too easy a target.

He finally found some trees and ran for the relative shelter they offered. But he lost his footing and stumbled halfway to the tree line. On the soft dirt of the hill the only option his body had was to roll down the hill. End over end he rolled; his arm pure torture and one of his ankles joining the parade of pain as he twisted it.

His uncontrolled roll was brought to an abrupt halt as he careened into a tree. Fortunately, by then he had no longer been rolling end over end, and he was halted as he hit a tree with his stomach – bringing him to a complete and instant stop as well as winding him. A single pine-cone fell on his head in a random Looney-Tunes moment. He groaned.

By now the helicopter had crested the hill and was shooting at him. With an inward groan John started crawling deeper in between the trees and for a moment he thought the helicopter would pass him by. But of course John was outnumbered and out-gunned and this was not Hollywood where the hero miraculously survived an aerial battle. The helicopter drew nearer and sprayed another round of bullets. This time John's luck ran out and he felt a single round piercing his shoulder.

The enemy helicopter veered off and disappeared; obviously satisfied the job was done. And it was. The rounds used by a helicopter were big enough that a single shot was usually enough to kill. Though John was still alive, the pilot had been correct in assuming he would bleed out in minutes.

As he lay broken; dying amidst the bare trees of winter in Russia, his thoughts turned inwards to the one place he had kept locked up for over a decade: his thoughts turned towards Elizabeth Weir and the promise of Atlantis. With one hand he slowly reached into his jacket and further into his shirt. His hand closed around metal that was this time warm from _his_ body: though he had refused to think about Atlantis, he wore the pendant Radek Zelenka had given him on the same chain as his dog-tags. Once the pendant had been warm from _her_ body; his _sad green eyes_' dead body. Now he, too, will die with the pendant against his skin; cooling as death took him. _One side earth, the other side Atlantis_. This had been his curse for far too long. No wonder he had agreed to this mission. It seemed he had been running from life for so long now.

But then, there had always seemed to be another war raging; another battle to fight. As the pain faded into numbness – a sure sign of significant blood loss – it all suddenly seemed so senseless. Then again, that was probably the final reflection of far too many soldiers dying on the battlefield. And he had been chasing them all his life – hoping to find meaning to all the strife in his and other's lives.

Now his only hope was that somehow Radek had been right when he had said it wasn't supposed to end this way – that somewhere all of them had lived lives worth living and that the battles they had fought had been worth fighting. This battle was not worth fighting, though. Once, the USA and Russia had been at peace. Relations might have been a bit strained, but they had been in the process of learning. Unfortunately the wrong word at the wrong time had ignited old enmity and the two superpowers were once more at each other's throats.

He now heard voices in the distance and he wondered why it seemed that they were familiar to him. They seemed like those of old friends that have been lost for a lifetime.

Then his vision faded to black and he realised the voices he was hearing was inside his head. They were indeed the voices of friends: Rodney and Radek and Carson and Teyla and Ronon and Elizabeth. They were the voices of Atlantis and they were smiling.

Finally Colonel John Sheppard died, MIA in Russia, his fist clenched around a golden medallion that was both earth and Atlantis.

_He was suspended in darkest eternity, there was no up or down or present or past. But even eternity could not last and with pain not unlike that of birth the world exploded into white light..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Almost like a birthday-gift, on the day Rodney turned sixty the world was told about a secret the US government – and a number of other governments, including Russia (now once again at peace with the USA), Britain and South-Africa – had been keeping for just over thirty years. The person selected to deliver this news was the official representative of the government as well as what was called the SGC: General Samantha Jackson. Though almost as many years had passed since the day the young Sam Carter had shown up for a single date as the secret had been kept, the woman on the screen was still recognizable as her. Though older, with longer hair now that had been allowed to turn grey, she was still attractive.

Rodney wondered who this Jackson-person was she had married. A colleague, perhaps? A scientist she did not consider a nutcase?

For almost an hour General Jackson explained about the SGC (Stargate Command) and the many-many missions to other worlds. It seemed that in the course of a lifetime they had made as many friends as enemies. Much of the modern weapons technology was based on alien technology and Rodney suddenly wished John was here with him to enjoy the moment with him. But it was fourteen years now that his best friend had been killed in Russia (Rodney was not supposed to know, but just before leaving John had told him about the mission).

And so Rodney listened as Sam explained about the Goa'uld, the Asgard (now extinct), the Replicators, the Ori and numerous other aliens out there. But though he listened to the entire report, as well as everything else said about it in the weeks and months to come, he never once heard anything about the city of Atlantis. A Doctor Daniel Jackson (Sam's husband, it turned out) once spoke of a search for a lost city and Rodney _knew_ it was Atlantis they were talking about. But Jackson also said that they had never been able to find the city.

Deep in thought Rodney finally retired to his study and the i-board. As he stared at the crystal screen, he wondered if it, too, was a technology derived from alien tech. It also occurred to him that it was probably time for a new i-board, anyway. This one had developed a slight twitch in its transit that irritated Rodney. He'll ask Zelenka about it sometime.

Now he picked up the i-pen and rearranged a number of calculations. But all too soon he closed that file and started on a new document. On this page he did not write any math, but instead listed every fact he knew about Atlantis and the stargate.

Soon the page was filled from top to bottom with information. To anyone else it might seem like the plot to a sci-fi story, but to Rodney it represented a lifetime of searching. A timeline in one corner starts in the year 1985 – the year all of them woke one night with the feeling that the earth had turned on its side. Added to that were important dates, including the one day all of them had wordlessly known was the day they should have gone to Atlantis.

And indeed, that had been a very strange day. It happened just a few weeks after Elizabeth Weir had been killed. By then John had firmly drawn a curtain of separation between him and the rest of those that had come to call themselves the Atlanteans. But even on that day he had not been able to deny the strange pull inside himself.

It had been the year 2004. As the attack on the African president had been nearly global, most people on earth (or at least those with television) had seen the report. And for weeks afterwards people had been contacting Radek and John: most newscasts had identified Elizabeth's date and her would-be rescuer. Many Atlanteans had recognized either the scruffy scientist or the boyish Colonel. Some of them had joined Rodney, Radek and John around that time in hopes of finding answers to the questions that haunted them: the least of all being _how do I know you_?

So a formal meeting had been called and almost three dozen people had attended. Among those gathered had been of course Rodney, John and Radek, as well as Carson Beckett; who had found them at the dinner the day Elizabeth died. Other faces had included a Jennifer Keller, Evan Lorne, Anne Teldy, Miko Kusanagi and a Katie Brown. Carefully Rodney added the rest to his list on the i-board – Radek had kept notes.

The night of the meeting had lasted nearly twelve hours. Much had been discussed, but there had been a number of things everyone had had in common. The first had been that in 1985 (someone actually pinpointed it to 08:00 GMT on the 19th of May) every single one of them had found themselves in a moment where it had felt they had woken from a strange dream. And though only those on the American continents had mostly been asleep, those elsewhere had had the same feeling of waking from a dream.

A second thing was that from that moment onward all of them had felt adrift, strange, changed. In fact, one of the Atlanteans, a guy named Chuck, had written a book about space-vampires, called 'Wraith-Blue,' being about the nightmares he had been having since that day.

A third thing was the strange recognition that existed between all of them. The people at the meeting had included nearly a dozen nations, yet all of them had felt they knew the others.

The last thing that united all of them was that none of them had ever been asked or told or even had heard about an Atlantis mission by the SGC.

And though everything discussed had been informative, they had not been able to form any conclusions. So it had seemed that they would all depart to their various countries. Yet, for a reason they had not been able to comprehend then, they had all decided to stay.

It was only as the sun set on the day after the meeting that all of them searched out one another and had sat in silence; thinking. By the time it was full dark they had taken over a restaurant near the hotel where the meeting had been held. It must have freaked out the waiters, for almost three dozen people had moved all of the available tables together in a single big group, but then had sat in silence. A few had eaten and the rest had at least drunk something. But none of them had spoken, not even Radek Zelenka, who somehow seemed to know the most.

Later they had left without saying goodbye and Rodney had since not seen most of them. But he knew that had been the night they would have stepped through the stargate.

Now, years later, he regarded that information in a new light. Back then he had thought that perhaps the strange memories each had kept over from 1985 had changed their paths so that they did not join the SGC and the Atlantis-mission. It had seemed a bit of a stretch, yes, but it had been the only thing that had made any sense.

But twenty-four years later, in the light of what Sam Jackson had told the world, he looked at the information differently and started wondering about another explanation: one even stranger than anything considered before...


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Rodney McKay pushed at the railing of his bed, but time has robbed him of all strength. In fact, it was rare these days that he even had this little strength left to him. Yet time has not robbed him of his memories; indeed, it has caused memories he had thought unreachable to come to the surface. Unfortunately he found it difficult to speak, so he could tell no-one. Besides, there was nobody left on earth who would believe him.

Only a few years ago Radek Zelenka had died of a heart attack. A year younger than Rodney, the death of his friend had been difficult to bear. It had been even more difficult as Radek had been the last Atlantean Rodney had known. After the Czech's death he had been alone. Even Jeannie had stopped visiting him by then. Not that she didn't believe him – no, she too had been on Atlantis. But she had always had a more pragmatic view on life than he did, and she had accepted the fact that something strange had happened in 1985. But she, along with a few of those from the meeting, like Jennifer Keller and Cadman, hadn't been at the second get-together in the restaurant. He guessed that no matter how she had ended up on Atlantis, those that had not been at the restaurant had not been of the original team that had gone to Atlantis.

But now Jeannie, too, was dead. In fact, Madison, her daughter, had died before her mother in an accident. Strange, Madison had somehow also known something was different about her, even if she had been born years after that day in 1985. The only other person with whom Rodney had had any contact had been Carson Beckett. But nearly fifteen years ago Carson had disappeared and Rodney had been unable to find any information on the doctor in the years since.

So now Rodney was finally alone. As he lay with his hands slumped on his shrunken chest, he reflected on his life. He had realised years ago that he had not deserved any of the friends he had had. Jeannie was family, but the rest of them had been people he should not have been able to call 'friend.' And it wasn't because they were not scientists that they would not have been friends, but because Rodney had finally realised he was an egocentric asshole who had never taken the time to learn how to treat people.

He mused on this for a little while. Then his thoughts shifted to a forgotten life unlived on Atlantis. But, as always these days, he drifted off to sleep. Time had robbed him not just of strength of body, but also of the strength to fight. These days sleep was the biggest comfort in his life.

Once during the night he woke as a nurse came to turn him onto his other side. He wondered why she bothered. From the open doorway he the faint notes of a song. He actually knew the song: it was very old. As the nurse worked he listened to song. The lyrics echoed in his head:

_Now take the hourglass_

_And turn it on its head,_

_For when the sands are still_

'_Tis when you'll find me dead._

He wondered at the mentality of a nurse that would play a song like that in an old-age nursing home.

He must have made some kind of noise, for the nurse – already self an older woman – leaned over him.

"What is it, Mister McKay?" she asked. She took out a tissue from her pocket and wiped at the corner of his mouth. The nurses hated the idea of drool forming in the corners of it, but there was little he could do about it.

And for a moment the veil of memory slid aside and he remembered – _remembered_ – a moment when he had woken from being hit in the face by a Wraith stunner for the first time and John had laughed at him. Carson had kept wiping at the corner of his mouth then as well while he had been unable to help it. He smiled now: in time all of them had been hit so many times by stunners they had actually built up a resistance against the prolonged effects thereof.

Now, unable to answer the nurse, she wiped a final time before leaving. Slowly he drifted off to sleep as the woman on the radio (or whatever) ended her song:

_Now take the hourglass_

_And turn it on its head,_

_For when the sands are still_

'_Tis when you'll find me dead._

_O, light the candle John,_

_The daylight is almost gone,_

_The birds have sung their last_

_The bells call all to mass..._

And at the age of ninety-three, Meredith Rodney McKay died in his sleep.

_Silence...endless silence. Then: the pain and light of birth..._

"Just give me a moment, will you!" Rodney yelled as he worked on his equasions.

"McKay..." John hurried his friend along.

"John!" Elizabeth suddenly yelled over the two of them, her eyes wide.

_Tearing metal, a grinding noise and the sound of the world coming apart...then...silence...but after an eternity that seemed like a moment a blinding light and the sound of life..._

They were in the chair-room: Rodney, Elizabeth, John and Radek. Only minutes before they had been warned that somehow Atlantis' current path would take them through an event horizon: a black hole. Normally Atlantis self would correct the course, but this black hole had been hidden inside a nebula and Atlantis' sensors had not picked it up until it was too late. The four of them had instantly rushed to the chair-room for John to try and manually correct their course, but it had been too late: they had been drawn into the black hole.

At the moment of impact, Rodney and Radek had frantically been trying to calculate what effect their travelling through a black hole in hyperspace would have on them. John had been concentrating on steering the city-ship and Elizabeth had been helplessly standing to one side, watching the drama unfold. Elizabeth had been looking at the countdown on the screen in front of John, and the moment of impact had forced her to call his name.

But now the four of them stood in silence as the events of a lifetime suddenly set in.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" Elizabeth demanded.

Rodney looked up and looked around. He lifted a finger in explanation, but lowered it slightly. Finally he looked at Radek, who shrugged. "I think we went through the black hole," the Czech answered.

"Is it just me or did some weird...stuff...just happen?" John asked, narrowing his eyes.

Rodney tapped at his tablet. "The weirdest part seems to be that we are all right." He looked up, relief written on his face. "We're all right," he repeated.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Elizabeth stood in the small bathroom in front of the mirror – staring at her own reflection. Carefully she touched her face where the scar had been; should have been. Carefully she traced the path of the should-have-been scar. She remembered the scar so vividly: it had been part of her life for years, after all.

And yet it had all been but an instant that was already fading. A lifetime had passed in the blink of an eye: literally.

Suddenly the memories swarmed and attacked and she felt a welling in her chest. It almost felt as if her heart would burst with emotion. And the emotion riding the crest of the wave was fear: stark, naked, burning fear that threatened to drive her to her knees.

She rested her head against the cold mirror and pressed her lips tightly together in an effort to stem the force of the flow of emotion. Fervently she hoped John would not find her like this. Had this happened in the future – or even perhaps two years ago – she would not have had any trouble facing him with her fears. But though they were now officially a couple (and strangely, everyone liked the idea, in fact some seemed relieved), there had been so much hurt between them these past two years and they were still working on trusting each other.

She closed her eyes and balled her fists, but it was not enough to stop the single sob of sorrow escaping.

How he had done it, she never knew, but somehow John had entered their shared room without her hearing him. As she stood at the mirror, wanting to cry but not allowing herself the luxury, a strong pair of arms gently turned her around until her head was resting against a strong chest. And finally the tears she had been repressing flowed: tears for two lifetimes of hurt.

All tears dry in time, and after a few minutes hers finally stopped. She pulled back in his grip and John let her escape his arms enough that he stil held her shoulders, but so she could look at him without going cross-eyed. She knew her face must be an awful mess.

She smiled wryly. "I don't usually cry like that," she assured him. John looked down at the blotch on his shirt and pulled a face.

"I really hope not," he said as he poked at the spot. And suddenly the tension was relieved and she could honestly smile. She touched the spot, their fingers momentarily brushing.

"I'm sure that will come out with the right kind of soap," she told him. Then she raised a single eyebrow. "Just too bad I have no idea what kind of soap that might be."

John smiled at her and then peeled off his shirt. A new emotion welled in her and this time it was not sorrow or fear. As if reading her thoughts he grinned at her, but then reached for another shirt and donned it.

"Not now," he said and winked. She scowled at him. Then he looked critically at her. "You might want to wash your face," he informed her. "We wouldn't want anyone else to see you had an emotional moment."

She flushed slightly, for she had indeed forgotten how mushy her face must look after that bout of crying. Quickly she did as he suggested. As she dried her face, she looked at him in the mirror over the towel. "Thank you," she quietly told him.

For a moment he looked at her with a serious expression, but then he smiled his old boyish grin and grabbed her hand. As their fingers interlaced – a tender gesture she adored – he kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"I'm hungry," he informed her.

She lifted her eyebrow, but a smile played around her lips. "Well, then I guess we need to feed you," she decided. Together they turned and left for the mess hall.

#####

The mess hall was curiously quiet. Yes, there was the murmur of voices, but the groups were small and subdued. Elizabeth supposed all the rest of them were silently trying to make sense of what had happened; the same as she had only minutes ago. But as leader of this colony among the stars, she did not have the luxury of emotional weakness like they did – at least not where anyone could see.

She looked up at John walking next to her. Well, at least not where anyone but him could see, she silently amended. Perhaps they did not have so much baggage to work through, after all.

They got their trays and went to sit at the table usually occupied by SGA-1. The only thing was that these days this table had grown significantly and was now more of a group of tables than a single one. Yet for now it was just the two of them.

But not for long: they had hardly sat down when a subdued Radek and Anne joined them. They nodded at one another, but remained quiet; waiting, continuously touching each other in search of comfort. And sure enough, within minutes the group had grown to include Sitnalta, Ronon, Teyla and the Becketts along with Laura and Jennifer. Rodney was the last to join them, his plate stacked.

"What?" he asked as they looked at the amount of food he had in front of him. "Hey, to me it seems like I have spent at least ten years on liquids," he defended himself. He took a bite of potato (better enjoy earth food while it lasted) and while eating continued: "You have no idea how great it is to be able to chew once more!"

Lovingly Sitnalta rested her head against his arm for a moment in sympathy, and the grumpy scientist melted at her touch. Still chewing he smiled down at her.

"So, really none of us ever made it to Atlantis?" Ronon asked. Elizabeth thought once more that one too easily forgot that the young man was as smart as he was intimidating. And that question was really at the heart of what had happened, wasn't it?

"I know none of us on earth did," Radek informed the table. He winced as he looked at Elizabeth. "We did find many more people after that dinner," he said. She merely nodded. In her world that had been the day she had died. But now she only nodded for the scientist to continue.

But it was Rodney – taking a time-out from consuming his food in a curiously comforting normal way – that continued the conversation. "Well, I can tell you: I've been working on the math for a lifetime and I still don't know what really happened."

John scowled. "We know that already," he informed his friend and Elizabeth wondered at their adventures. Perhaps one day they will tell her. And then one day she will tell them her story as well.

"Yes," Rodney said unperturbed, waving a drumstick at John. "But I do have a theory," he smugly added, biting into the drumstick.

All of them sat in silence for a moment, waiting for Rodney to speak. But the scientist was contently munching on his food. Finally Sitnalta lightly laid her long, slender fingers on his wrist and looked deep into his eyes. "Please, love, we really would like to know your theory."

Amazingly, this worked. Where anyone else would have gotten a snide remark from the man, he only smiled at his lover.

"Well," he began, now looking at all of them. "After Sam – you know she married Daniel Jackson?" he interrupted his story.

"No, we did not," John scowled. But it was in jest.

Rodney frowned. "Well, she did," he took up his story again. "Well, after the meeting," and Elizabeth wondered exactly what had happened there at the meeting – John had only told her the basics earlier, "and what Sam told the world, I realised that somehow, in that lifetime, Atlantis did not exist. It wasn't that only a few of us never made it there: nobody did!" He looked at Ronon. "As Chewy here pointed out earlier."

"But how could all of us have existed but not Atlantis?" Teyla asked in her calm, cool voice.

"Because Atlantis was destroyed," Rodney cryptically remarked. Elizabeth wondered who would be the first to hit the man. Fortunately for him Sitnalta was once more the one to tell him to behave.

"Okay," he continued. "I have no proof of this, but this is what I believe happened. I think when we passed through the black hole, all matter got destroyed for a fraction of a moment."

"But all of us went back in time," Elizabeth wondered out loud. Rodney rolled his eyes at her, cocking his head.

"Yes, well. As I was saying: all _matter_ got destroyed. That includes our bodies and Atlantis. But somehow our _consciousnesses_ were transferred to a point in time before the accident. In fact, to a point of time before any of our paths were set to bring us to Atlantis." He took another bite from something green on his plate. "Then, the moment our path took us beyond the point of impact with the black hole, all the matter that had been destroyed was recreated."

Ronon looked at Rodney, but instead of commenting the big man looked over at Teyla. Elizabeth wondered what their stories might be.

"After Atlantis was recreated, all of us returned to that point of time in our bodies," he finally ended.

The rest of them thought about that. "But the only way for us to return was at the moment of our deaths?" Anne asked. She was sitting very close to Radek; almost as if she was afraid of losing him.

Elizabeth supposed that all of them had lost much in that instant in time. She looked at the familiar faces of her friends and colleagues, and as she did she felt the past slip away. Suddenly she knew the future might not be easy, but they were meant to be here, like this, today. And she felt reassured in knowing that no matter what paths their lives might take, they would be able to face it together.

She picked up her mug and held it aloft. "A toast," she exclaimed and waited as the rest of them took their own mugs of assorted beverages. "To Atlantis and to the path that led all of us here," she proposed.

"To Atlantis!" they echoed as they brought their mugs together in salute.


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The peal of the alarm alerting the base to an unscheduled off-world activation pierced the soft murmur of voices in the cafeteria. As she and Teal'c had already been on their way to the control room, Samantha Carter and the Jaffa hurried there.

"Incoming wormhole," the young airman at the computer reported.

"Close the iris," Sam ordered. Just then Jack O'Neill sauntered in and came to stand close beside Sam. "What are you doing here?" Sam whispered to her fiancé.

"I thought I'd come see where my future wife worked," he joked. She smiled at him for a moment. Then she looked at the young man working at the computer.

"Are we receiving an IDC?" she asked.

"No, General," he replied. The rank still sat ill on her shoulders: it felt like she was getting old – well, older. "But we are receiving a video transmission," he added.

She thought about that for a moment. "Put it through," she said. Immediately the young man put the video on one of the screens.

The screen was fuzzy with static for a moment, but then it cleared to reveal what looked like a musty cave. But the strangest part was the young face peering at them.

"Can I speak to General Samantha O'Neill?" the young voice asked. Sam looked at Jack standing beside her. He grinned.

Sam looked back at the screen. "I am Samantha Carter," she informed their young caller. "How can I help you?"

"General, the signal is coming from Atlantis," the airman quietly informed her. She nodded. She looked at the young face again and thought that the boy looked familiar. He seemed to be about thirteen, with dark brown hair that stood wild about his head. He wore a single strand braided with beads and what appeared to be leather clothing.

"I am Alexander Sheppard," the kid introduced himself. "I guess you must not yet be married, ma'am," he grinned.

Alexander Sheppard? Samantha wondered at the name. The kid did look like John, actually. And the green eyes were those of Elizabeth Weir. But Atlantis had been gone only a few weeks now; there couldn't possibly have been time to produce this child.

"No, I guess I'm not," she told young Alexander Sheppard. "Who are you exactly?" she wondered.

The child frowned. "I am Alex Sheppard, son of John Sheppard and Elizabeth Weir," he replied. But a familiar voice interrupted the young man.

"Alex, remember the time differential!" Samantha smiled to herself.

And Jack had obviously recognised the voice as well, for he muttered: "McKay." Yes, it was the arrogant scientist. And if there was a time differential, then perhaps they were talking to a kid from the future.

"McKay!" she called. But the only response she got was the kid shaking his head.

"No, ma'am, Uncle Rodney and Kathryn asked me to speak to you. They say they can't keep the wormhole open for long." Alex looked over his shoulder to the unseen McKay and Kathryn. Then he returned to the screen. "Uncle Rodney says we are nearly fifteen years into your future. But we need your help today. A terrible enemy destroyed most of Atlantis when I was only a year old," he continued. "Please, we know you are angry because we left, but we need you to save us."

"Who is this enemy?" Sam asked. But the kid shook his head.

"Find Atlantis, please! Tell them they must not trust the Devil! Uncle Rodney says you have twenty-one months and seventeen days from the day Atlantis left earth to find them and warn them. After that it will be too late."

The screen flickered for a moment and Sam lost part of the transmission. When the screen cleared, Alex was at the end of a sentence. "Please. We are at..."

But this time the screen went blank and from the corner of her eye Sam saw the stargate disengaging.

"We lost the signal," the airman informed them.

Sam stood back from the screen: she had unconsciously leaned forward in an attempt to see more of the boy and the cave he was in.

"Don't trust the Devil?" she wondered out loud.

To her right Teal'c tilted his head. "One would think that was an obvious conclusion," the Jaffa remarked.

"Yeah, but you know those Atlanteans," Jack drawled. "They would probably try and make a deal with the devil if they thought they had to."

"Indeed," Teal'c remarked.

**The End**

_Author's note: Thanks for bearing with me through this story. I know it wasn't as happy as my first stories, but I felt this, too, needed to be told. The next story will be happier, I promise._

_The song that Rodney heard the night he died, is 'Skellig' by Loreena McKennit. The lyrics are heartbreakingly beautiful – and just as sorrowful._

_Well, see you later with the next story: Pavlov._

_Bunny love._


End file.
